Gillian’s hand once, waited for a response, which he didn’t receive. Disappointed, he stripped off his gloves and opened one of the bags. “You’re an asshole.”
“You’re welcome,” was his only reply.
He finished nearly everything in the bag. The fast food nirvana wasn’t his favorite, but fuck it all, Brett was right. He was hungry.
“Any changes since I was last here?” Brett asked after tossed the remnants into the trashcan.
“None.” Not a flicker, not a move, she was so fucking still. Since Brett brought up that they were on the same side, he asked, “What have you found out?”
“Still waiting on lab results. We’re missing three packmates. I have every Hunter out tracking.”
Owen’s gut knotted. “Male?”
“Yes, all three.”
“What the fuck is going on in your pack, Brett?”
Aggression flooded the room, but Dalton didn’t move from the wall. “My promise to protect you doesn’t preclude me kicking your ass, Chase.”
“I don’t need your protecti—” A low moan from the bed cut through his temper, and Owen surged forward. Gillian’s eyes were open, but unfocused. Brett closed the distance, his attention on her as she pushed at the blanket.
“Shop writing.” The words were as incoherent as they’d been earlier—all save the ones she’d used to let Owen know he’d caused her pain.
“We’re not fighting, little wolf.” Brett’s swift answer spiked Owen’s temper, but he choked off his reaction. Gillian didn’t need his anger. “You need to wake up now. The pack needs to know you’re safe. Your pack needs you to be safe.”
The distinction amidst the rise of energy in the room set Owen’s teeth on edge . Brett danced perilously on the edge by asserting any authority over her. Since Owen would rather she were awake, however, he chose to ignore it. “Gillian, come on, sweetheart, wake up.”
Her pupils were huge. The black circles so wide they left little of her topaz in evidence except for a thin ring. “Hot. Better. Hungry. Numbness. Mad.” The litany of words made no sense, and he shared a concerned look with Brett. The Alpha reached out and wrapped a hand around her sheet-covered ankle.
“Gillian.” Command filled every syllable. She blinked slowly, then scrambled upright. The change hit her so hard and fast, even Brett backed off a pace. Owen grabbed the IV shunt and tugged it from her arm even as her skin and muscles twisted. The last thing she needed was a foreign object embedded in her body. Sheets shredded under her claws and she got tangled in the T-shirt Owen had dressed her in.
His shirt. Her wolf, so beautifully and naturally submissive wasn’t pleased. She snapped at the shirt, tearing a hole in it to try and free herself. Owen caught her scruff and, gently as he could, ripped the shirt free. She settled at the contact, sitting and panting. The lost, dazed look in her eyes disappeared behind a flash of intelligence.
“Magnificent,” Brett exhaled the compliment and it echoed the one in Owen’s soul.
The soft gold of her fur was unique, even in Willow Bend, exquisitely shaded, like a ray of sunshine given wolf form. Her topaz eyes never shifted between wolf and human. Unlike so many wolves, her eye color was always the same. With almost exaggerated care, she stood, stretched and yawned. With a flick of her ears, she turned to face Owen.
“Eighteen hours,” he told her. Every single one a cut he’d endured. “We hydrated you. Emma said we should avoid skin contact until you completed the purge.” Every molecule in him wanted to pull her to him, bury his fingers and face into her fur until only her scent coated his lungs. He wanted to know she was alive and well.
Once assured, he wanted to hunt. To kill the bastard who put her in such danger.
Dipping her head, she sniffed at her legs. Next she inspected the sheets, turning until she’d checked every inch of the bed. Without a look toward either of them she leapt down.
Brett
“You’re welcome,” was his only reply.
He finished nearly everything in the bag. The fast food nirvana wasn’t his favorite, but fuck it all, Brett was right. He was hungry.
“Any changes since I was last here?” Brett asked after tossed the remnants into the trashcan.
“None.” Not a flicker, not a move, she was so fucking still. Since Brett brought up that they were on the same side, he asked, “What have you found out?”
“Still waiting on lab results. We’re missing three packmates. I have every Hunter out tracking.”
Owen’s gut knotted. “Male?”
“Yes, all three.”
“What the fuck is going on in your pack, Brett?”
Aggression flooded the room, but Dalton didn’t move from the wall. “My promise to protect you doesn’t preclude me kicking your ass, Chase.”
“I don’t need your protecti—” A low moan from the bed cut through his temper, and Owen surged forward. Gillian’s eyes were open, but unfocused. Brett closed the distance, his attention on her as she pushed at the blanket.
“Shop writing.” The words were as incoherent as they’d been earlier—all save the ones she’d used to let Owen know he’d caused her pain.
“We’re not fighting, little wolf.” Brett’s swift answer spiked Owen’s temper, but he choked off his reaction. Gillian didn’t need his anger. “You need to wake up now. The pack needs to know you’re safe. Your pack needs you to be safe.”
The distinction amidst the rise of energy in the room set Owen’s teeth on edge . Brett danced perilously on the edge by asserting any authority over her. Since Owen would rather she were awake, however, he chose to ignore it. “Gillian, come on, sweetheart, wake up.”
Her pupils were huge. The black circles so wide they left little of her topaz in evidence except for a thin ring. “Hot. Better. Hungry. Numbness. Mad.” The litany of words made no sense, and he shared a concerned look with Brett. The Alpha reached out and wrapped a hand around her sheet-covered ankle.
“Gillian.” Command filled every syllable. She blinked slowly, then scrambled upright. The change hit her so hard and fast, even Brett backed off a pace. Owen grabbed the IV shunt and tugged it from her arm even as her skin and muscles twisted. The last thing she needed was a foreign object embedded in her body. Sheets shredded under her claws and she got tangled in the T-shirt Owen had dressed her in.
His shirt. Her wolf, so beautifully and naturally submissive wasn’t pleased. She snapped at the shirt, tearing a hole in it to try and free herself. Owen caught her scruff and, gently as he could, ripped the shirt free. She settled at the contact, sitting and panting. The lost, dazed look in her eyes disappeared behind a flash of intelligence.
“Magnificent,” Brett exhaled the compliment and it echoed the one in Owen’s soul.
The soft gold of her fur was unique, even in Willow Bend, exquisitely shaded, like a ray of sunshine given wolf form. Her topaz eyes never shifted between wolf and human. Unlike so many wolves, her eye color was always the same. With almost exaggerated care, she stood, stretched and yawned. With a flick of her ears, she turned to face Owen.
“Eighteen hours,” he told her. Every single one a cut he’d endured. “We hydrated you. Emma said we should avoid skin contact until you completed the purge.” Every molecule in him wanted to pull her to him, bury his fingers and face into her fur until only her scent coated his lungs. He wanted to know she was alive and well.
Once assured, he wanted to hunt. To kill the bastard who put her in such danger.
Dipping her head, she sniffed at her legs. Next she inspected the sheets, turning until she’d checked every inch of the bed. Without a look toward either of them she leapt down.
Brett
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